So many Mary Magdalenes!

Pardon us, for having done the folly
Of being in this earth as women!
If there is a god, that god will feel guilty
When he identifies how we suffer, with
Our mute desires and passions, with fortitude.
Once we were the springs of passion to the poets;
We were goddesses for lovers who fancied us.
We were cast on their chests as favourite toys,
And were being fondled, as objects of pleasure.
We were laying our heads on their laps; hearing
Their whispers, encharming us with their flatteries.

When we woke up and realized we were hungry
For food, you threw stones at us, and called us prostitutes.
We are Mary Magdalenes seeking Jesus Christ,
To sit at his feet, yearning to wash his feet
With our tears, and anoint him with the fragrant
Spikenard oil, before the crucifixion.
We are the modern Mary Magdalenes……

AEONS

Time and eons in slumber,
Under the ocean of deluge,
Emerged in jubilation,
Awakening from a lengthy sleep.
Its reflections transformed into nature,
Creator and me.
On its rampart above, the aeons are born
And hidden away in oblivion,
Through innumerable millenniums.
Where seasons, are adopted as
Progeny, in the Universe.

And you come, escorted by them, in foursome flanks
Of spring, summer, winter and autumn,
In a chariot, brought from heaven, and bestow
Upon us, with all its magnificence and terrors.
In the confluence of the seasons,
The lamp you light in the firmament on
The Milky Way, diffuse its charms
Into the horizon; fabulous, amazing, and dandy!
Persevering, through boundless equinoxes…
Our existence is nothing but a sound
In an immense ocean of silence, and of time.
Where life and memory are meaningless,
Struggles and happiness are empty bubbles…